To Write Love On Her Arms
by O.o LiviLou o.O
Summary: Such an addiction, such a sin...Lusting for the pain...Paris Sanchez has never known anything else than sorrow. Her addiction, her sin, her life. Life, at the knife. Everyday hoping to die, she learns to live life by sarcasm and insults. Add Isidro, a not so happy kid with an obsession of death- and Paris.
1. National Disgrace

**Hey, guys, I'm starting To Write Love On Her Arms over again. So, it will still have the same characters and happenings, it will just be set back a while, while she is still at the same age.**

**I am listening to: Headstrong by Trapt**

**I do not, nor have I ever, owned PJO.**

**Chapter 1**

"**Nation Disgrace"**

…

_**I see your fantasy, you want to make it a reality paved in gold, see inside, inside of our heads, yeah, well, now that's over.**_

Silently I looked out the window, mixed feelings about this town. Hanover, Pennsylvania. I didn't know much about it. So far, we had passed four 'Utz' factories, some place that made potato chips and a 7/11, and a sign that said, "Welcome To Pennsylvania, where our puppy mills are a nation disgrace!"

My gaze shifted back to my father, a 33 year old bald Hispanic made named Jorge. He had been silent since we had gotten off the airplane. It was rather lucky because I wasn't speaking to him either.

I stared at the low sidewalks and close houses, a glare working it's way onto my face.

"You'll like it here, mija." Jorge said suddenly, his dark eyes flickering towards me for a moment before going back to the road.

"Somehow," I began, flipping the bird at a boy who stared at me too long, "I doubt that." As if on cue, the little red truck we were in ran over a pot hole, serving as a point as to my hatred of such a town.

"Listen mija, I already have the house paid for. We're just going to see Grammy Flores." He said this like it was a good thing. I supposed it was in his mind. Mine, however, wanted to jump out of the little red truck and walk back to California where my dreams laid.

"Just what I wanted." I spat sarcastically, "to see my senile grandmother! Yippy Ki A! After that let's go visit cousin Osabas in the mental institute he's residing in! Then maybe, and just maybe, we'll visit Grandpa in prison! What a lovely way to spend the day!"

The silence in the car was overwhelming. Then, we hit another pothole. Fuck yes.

"I'm sorry." Jorge said after a while.

"Me too." I said evenly, waiting for him to take the bait.

"What for, mija?" he asked, his tan face twisting with confusion.

I turned my head towards him, making sure my voice was drawling, "I'm here."

Jorge frowned but did not try to start another conversation with me.

Turn. Turn. Swerve—stupid cat. U-turn. Hit the gas. Turn. Stop sign. Swerve—damn kid. Turn. Turn. Park.

"Oh, baby! You have grown so much! How are you, Danielle?" I glared at the chubby Hispanic woman in front of me. That. Was. _Not. _My. Name.

"It's Paris, abuela." I said sweetly, trying to squirm out of her iron grip. When I found I couldn't I decided to instead glare at the skinny brown haired twins behind her, my eyes more fixed on the one with glasses rather than the one without them.

"Oh, yes, yes, dear." She said offhandedly, dragging me over to the snickering boys. "Isidro, Ramon, this is my granddaughter Danielle."

I couldn't stop the growl that escaped my throat, "My name is, _Paris." _I spat out. _It's not that hard, you old bint! _I thought viciously.

"Isidro." The one with glasses said, sticking out his hand.

"Ramon." The other one said, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Daddy!" I called instead. "Can we go now? We visited; therefore, we can leave, right?"

"Such a jokester, little Paris is." Jorge said, gripping my shoulders while trying to soothe my erratic grandmother.

"Less is more." I muttered. The less time I spend with them, the more sanity I have.

"Mr. Flores, am I correct?" Isidro said. I think I'll call him Sid.

"Yes." Jorge replied, smiling falsely, though I supposed acting is a big part of his _business._

"What school will Paris be starting?" he questioned, his face looking innocent enough.

"Some place called Bermudian Springs in the eighth grade." Jorge said.

"Really?" Ramon perked up, "We go there, along with out older sister, Ellie."

"Really?" I said in the same tone, "I could care less." And with that, I went back to the little red car ready to be taken home.

…

East Berlin Pennsylvania, population, 2000.

On the street behind Rocco's pizza place laid a little neighborhood. In the middle stood a blue house.

This, was where I was living.

Kill me now.

_**Get me out of this place, before I cause anymore damage.**_

...

**I am listening to: Running From Lions by All Time Low**

**Okay, so right now I am going to vent, feel free to skip to the bottom,**

**So right now I am really fucking pissed. My dad and I had another argument, just him being an asshole and me being a bitch. So of course he's telling me how proud of my eldest brother Alberto and how I'm fat and stupid. If that doesn't piss me off, him not even hinting at my other brother David did. He's dead, it's not like he never fucking existed. I hate my father so much. Sometimes I feel like going anorexic just to get him riled up at not eating enough and I am just so fucking sick of everyone in this fucking house. I am so close to leaving all their sorry asses behind. And my mom is such a fucking unsupportive bitch! She just forgets David when everything is fine but when everything is going down the hill she starts going pshycho bitch, "David wouldn't do that! David would love to come along! Why can't you be like David?" And it just pissed me the fuck off. And when I told her that I've been hearing voices, and that I might have Schizophrenia she fucking made fun of me, "Oh, did the voices tell you to do that too? Listening to the voices again? Did they tell you to who's going to win the Superbowl?" and I'm just so sick of it!**

**Anyways, review!**

**O.o Livi Lou o.O**


	2. Walls Aren't That Comfy

**The young author is _really _not in the mood for crap today. Review pleasantly.**

**I am listening to: It's Not Over by Secondhand Serenade**

**Chapter 2**

"**Walls Aren't That Comfy"**

…

_**My tears run down like razor blades, I know I'm not the one to blame, it's you…or is it me?**_

I didn't ask to live like this. I didn't ask to have night terrors every night, keeping me from sleep. I didn't ask for the tug of war I'm playing with my soul, good or bad. I'm not dark nor am I light; I suppose I'm a hazy shade of grey ready to jump into whichever side is winning. My father says I having a making for an enforcer, or manipulator.

I didn't ask to have an addiction. I didn't _want _it! Sometimes I wish I could go back to my eleven year old self and slap her silly for just picking up the broken mirror which started all this, or maybe go back and yell at my father, to blame him for such a life.

I'm not crazy. Well, I may be a bit. I'm more of any angry soul, misunderstood and taken advantage of. Though, the thought of anyone trying to take advantage of me now is laughable.

And now, as I slid the small knife I hid in my foam finger over my wrist, I'll leave you onto morning with my motto, no matter how chilling and truthful it is.

_We're all broken. Some of us just can't be fixed._

…

Bermudian Springs Middle School did not have uniforms, something I thanked whatever was out there for, but it did have dress codes. You have to have natural colored hair, you are not allowed to wear chains, necklaces, lace, v-necked shirts, fishnets, or tutus. Also, your sleeve on your shirt has to be at least three fingers wide and you are not allowed to wear anything ten inches above your knee.

Since it was December I decided to go with black skinny jeans with chains on it, a black guitar pick necklace, fishnet gloves, a under armor shirt, long sleeved, many wrist bands, my nose ring and a black and silver tutu. If you didn't care what I wear to school, well, you could have just skipped that. Before I left I took scissors and mercilessly cut holes in my jeans, convinced that would be against the rules to. On my way out the door I snapped some colored extensions in my black hair, my dark make up already done. I was pretty sure I was breaking almost every rule in the hand book and if I wasn't I still had 7 months too.

"Have a good day, mija!" Jorge called. I slammed the door in response.

I was walking up the alley, the light of morning not even out yet, after all, it was 6:50 in the morning. I had to J-walk across a busy street to get the bus stop. When the bus finally came, I and about 7 other kids got on, two of the boys in the front fighting over who could get on first. I watched as one of the older kids put out his cigarette. I watched as the kids shuffled down the isles sitting in seats, talking to kids. I took one at the back of the bus, which vaguely smelled of sweat and vomit.

After a few stops the spot next to mine sunk in, causing me to slide towards the person a bit. I slowly looked over to find a boy probably my age or a year older with blonde hair and blue eyes grinning at me. As if he thought it was a good idea, he slid an arm around my waist. "Hey, babe, you looked cold. Richie'll warm you right up."

I took my hands, fake nails newly glued, and held onto the arm around my waist. He pulled away with a yelp, lightly bleeding. I responded coolly, "No. You're going to make me _throw up."_

The teenagers who sat on the bus were all quiet, half of them not even dressed properly for school, though I wasn't either, some of them were resting their heads on the icy windows snoring quietly. The ones who were awake though, were laughing. Apparently, my voice carries.

"Oi! Dickson! Leave 'er alone!" a boy with topaz eyes and blond hair wedged himself between the boy and I, though he did not hit on me. "The name's Trevor, Bermudian's resident genius." As if to prove a point he swung a large satchel overfilling with books onto his lap, then darting down to catch a small book before it hit the floor, apologizing to it many times.

"Paris." I put simply.

"As in the city?" he asked, curiosity oozing out of his voice.

"No." I replied steadily, "As in the kangaroo species. Yes the city!"

"Cool." And with that, Trevor the Nerd opened up a very worn copy of Pride and Prejudice and began reading.

I pulled out my prized possession, my iPhone, whom I deemed Leon during a trip to the ER after I tripped over my own two feet. I logged onto Facebook, a pointless social networking site that I had been forced into two years prior. I had almost 400 friends, though I didn't know half of the people on it. It didn't really bother me that I denied people who I had known, and hated, for 8 years while I confirmed strangers. Life is life, I suppose. On the plus side, I'm Facebook friends with Jorge's parole officer.

By the time we pulled up to the school I had already listened through 2 The Offspring songs, 3 Secondhand Serenades, 4 The Killers and skipped 1 Justin Bieber song that somehow worked its way onto my playlist. I didn't go too deeply in that one.

At the front was who I assumed was the Guidance Consoler, an older man named Mr. Neri. I found him odd, what with his bright blue eyes and tight grey curls holding onto his scull for dear life, I also suspected that that was a wig.

He led me to my homeroom/first class, English with Ms. Senft. My seat was in the very back, away from everyone. Towards the front of the class, Trevor the Nerd was waving hyperly at me and Sid, whom I had met the day before was waving at a slower pace. Ramon only nodded towards me. I only acknowledged him.

"Class." Ms. Senft, an older woman, probably about 50 with blond hair and blue eyes said, "We have a new student. Paris Sanchez please stand up and walk to the front."

Slowly, I pushed myself up, ignoring every eye on me.

"Please, tell us about yourself." Ms. Senft prodded.

I cleared my throat and leaned against the wall. Many of the classier looking kids narrowed their eyes. "My name's Paris. I'm from Long Beach, California. I live with my dad, Jorge Sanchez. I'm an only child." Was all I said.

Ms. Senft seemed to have other ideas, "Why don't you guys ask questions?"

Trevor's hand shot up at once. I nodded towards him, "What do you do in your free time?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "Read."

A girl towards the back raised her hand. I pointed at her in response, "Is your dad really Jorge Sanchez."

I sneered at her, "That's what it says on my birth certificate, you want to check?"

Her face flamed. Another boy in the third row raised his hand, "You, Afro Boy." I said, not caring about the glares I got from the people surrounded him.

"What kind of music do you like?" the class seemed to find this a funny question and snickered.

"Secondhand Serenade, Mayday Parade, Bowling For Soup, The Killers, those kinds of guys." I answered with another shrug of the shoulders. The boy nodded at me, ignoring his friends jests.

In the very back a girl with rainbow colored hair was hoping up and down in her seat. Sighing, I flicked my wrist in her direction.

"Why'd you move to Pennsylvania?" she asked. I felt my posture stiffen as I remembered the phoned conversation I had overheard…

_I had just gotten home from school. The phone was ringing, quite loudly too._

"_Hello?" I had asked, my tone slightly annoyed._

"_It's not safe!" a woman whispered into the receiver._

"_Listen, lady, if you want to talk to my dad I could get him." I said, pulling the phone a bit away from my ear._

"_You must leave quickly!" she said harshly._

"_Who are you?" I demanded._

_The other line was quiet for a while, "I'm your mother." The woman replied. _

_This time I was silent. I gulped before replying, "I don't have a mother."_

"_Please!," the woman had begged, "Tell Jorge to get to the safe house!" _

_I hung up the phone, the woman's pleading ringing in my ears. _

When Jorge had gotten home that night I had told him. We left the next week.

I glared at the girl, "Family business."

Another hand raised. Another question. "Where's your mum?"

My jaw clenched. I'm pretty sure my body was shaking, my face turning red with anger. "That is _none _of _anyone's _business." I said forcefully.

The questions died down after that.

…

The rest of the day went smoothly. Introduction, questions, sit down.

That night as I sat staring at the moon I couldn't help the uncomfortable clench in my stomach.

One lone tear slid down my face. I would not let any others fall down.

_**There's no point in breathing; its not allowed.**_

…

**I would have written more but I was reading something and it opened a newly sealed wound, so to speak. About two months ago my friend was killed in a car crash and I read about death and BAM! All the grief and sadness was back. I really hope it didn't hinder my writing.**

**I am listening to: Runaway by Cartel**

**Review!**

**O.o Livi Lou o.O**


	3. Sorrow

**Chapter 3  
>"Sorrow"<strong>

...

(Paris POV)

I closed my eyes, biting back tears.

I slid my back down the wall, my whole body shaking.

I can't sleep anymore. Every time I close my eyes I can see his dead body in front of my eyes, still mocking me from six feet under. We were never close, but I still loved him. I loved the way he could make anyone feel better, the way he always had people laughing, the way he was a natural bad ass.

His death bugs me more than anything ever has. Now, a whole year after it, his laugh haunts my dreams and voice speaks to me. I still find myself wondering what I could have done differently; what could have been done to save him?

Sometimes it hurts to breathe. It hurts so much to know I can do things he'll never get to do again. It hurts to know that someday, when I'm older, I'll tell my children about their Uncle Ricardo, though they'll never get to meet him.

What am I supposed to say? That he blew his brains out, and I held his head in my lap, trying to stop the bleeding for 15 minutes until the light finally left his eyes. My stomach churns just thinking about it.

I hated him. I had hated him so much when we were younger. Jorge had always bragged about Ricardo, whom you have probably figured out by now, my brother. How Ricardo was so popular and such a ladies' man. I was a selfish, jealous child back then. I told him daily that he was stupid and I hated him. Then he killed himself.

I had found him laying in the floor, pistol beside him, blood pooling around him. It had felt as if someone had shot me. I begged and pleaded for him to stay with me. He didn't.

The pain still rips through the fabric of my soul today.

That day, I promised myself that I would never love again; I told myself that love was for the weak and that in a life like mine, weakness was something strictly prohibited. I've never loved since.

...

It had been a long time since I really cried. I found it easier to just hide everything inside of me, and pretend I couldn't feel at all.

It worked for a while. Until, I really couldn't feel anything. I got scared.

That wasn't when I started cutting though. No, I started cutting when I was eleven. I had a bad day at school, and had just gotten in an argument with Jorge, when I ran into my room. There, on the floor, was a broken mirror, laying oh-so-innocently.

I had picked up a shard, and drew it swiftly across my arm, enjoying the pain.

Soon enough, I wasn't just a cutter, I was the cutting, if that makes sense. I yearned for the evil and sin of the blood pouring out of my self-inflicted wounds. I was the pain, the blood, the scars. It engulfed me; or rather welcomed me into the dark world of reality with open arms, that once you were inside, sucked the life out of you. It kept a vise like grip on you, gradually becoming tighter and tighter. But, I suppose you can call that life. Deal with it.

...

"Paris?" my head snapped up to meet the dark abyss like eyes of Isidro Matthews. Of course it had to be Sid to find me in the horrible state I was in.

"Go away." I demanded, though we both knew my voice was lacking it's usual menace.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sliding down next to me.

I shook my head and sighed softly. How was I supposed to say that I cause my own brother's suicide, held him until he died, and now regret it. How was I supposed today that every God damned day I see his face. Every day I hear him spilling his bowl of cereal on his lap, the cursing. I hear him trip over his own to feet. And then I hear him laugh and know now that is fake. That he faked it all, leading up tote day that he took his own life.

That, and the fact that I felt like throwing up that day's food intake because I had the genius idea of searching The Human Centipede online. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever read. The second one was even worst, but now in getting off topic.

Isidro looked at me, his dark brown eyes staring into my hazel ones, and I suddenly realized; I could knock his glasses off with my nose. Yeah, I know. Romantic, right?

I'm not known for my people skills, if you couldn't tell.

"You can tell me." he whispered, his breath tickling my neck.

I looked up at him, my eyes showing vulnerability and doubt. His showed concern and sincerity. I took a breath and told him. "My brother killed himself a year ago today."

Hesitantly, he put his arm around me, and tucked me into his side. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply.

The last thing I heard before I fell asleep, tucked into Isidro Matthews side was, "I know what it feels like. I know, Paris."

...

**I am so, so sorry for the incredibly long wait!**

**Okay, so life has been SUPER hectic lately! Okay, so my mom is trying to get me into some private Christian academy a few towns over, and a few weeks ago, my cousin was murdered, so I'm dealing with that.**

**Some of this chapter, has been taken from my journal from back when my friend Jeff died, an then some of it was taken from my recent feelings of my cousin's murder and some of it is the the feelings I have toward my brother, whom is alive. Though, I have to thank him, for being him! I was incredibly creeped out after reading The Human Centipede online, and went to him. I don't know how many of you do this but I showed it to him and he just said that it wouldn't happen, and that it was stupid, and I guess that felt reassuring, so yeah.:)**

**Review! **


	4. Fragile Silence

**I am listening to: Just The Girl by The Click Five**

**I do not, nor have I ever, owned PJO.**

**Chapter 4**

"**Fragile Silence"**

…

_**She's cold and she's cruel, but she knows what she's doin'. She pushed me in the pool at our last school reunion. She laughs at my dreams, but I dream about her laughter. Strange as it seems, she's the one I'm after.**_

"Do you feel depressed?"

I dare not look up at Dr. Roberts. I cannot answer, for I do not know. I don't know what depression feels like, but I do know, that whatever it feels like, is dangerous. Does it feel like the ever suffocating cloud of loneliness that surrounds me? Does it feel like the fog, slowly drifting through my mind? What about the agonizing memories of a past I would love to forget? But, I do not answer, because I do not know.

"Isidro." She says my name, her tone patient, her eyes pitying, "I can't help you, if you don't help me."

Again, my mouth is firmly closed. I do not wish for help, I just yearn for an end. The loneliness gnaws away at me; the ever hollow feeling in my heart seems to control me. I cannot speak, because I do not know.

Dr. Roberts sighs, and I know she's about to give up on me, just like all the others. They see me as fragile, a risk not to be taken. She's going to pick up my file, stare at the emotionless mask in my identification picture, and then hand me off to someone else, out of home, and out of mind. Just like all the others.

She stares at me. I'm a puzzle to her. She doesn't know what to do with me. She looks away, probably arguing with herself as to where to put me.

She picks up the phone, and I am slightly concerned. Is she going to send me away, to a hospital? I did not want to go to a hospital. It would mark me as an even bigger freak, than I already was.

Beside me, Ramon leans forward, letting his head fall into his hands. He is disappointed, I can tell. The quiet muttering from Dr. Roberts frightens him. He does not want me to go. He gives me a slightly pleading look. I sigh. Dr. Roberts hangs up, and looks at me again. It was the most I've done for a while.

A girl's face flashes before my eyes, her sarcastic voice echoing in my head. She is beautiful, I know this, but now she is even more so. It is like a bright light hangs around her, illuminating her in the dark abyss of my life.

"Paris," her name slips past my lips, a hiss of adoration, or maybe lust. I cannot tell.

Ramon's eyes light up, he is hopeful. I do not want to crush his spirit.

Dr. Roberts tells me to tell her about Paris.

"She's…" I pause, not knowing what to say. Paris is simply Paris, too me. "Sarcastic." I find myself smiling ever so slightly, remembering the biting words and cold smirk casually thrown out, day to day. "Rather rude." I remember her dumping milk on a boy's head when he accidentally tripped her. "Malicious." My own encounters proved such. She would heartlessly flay me out, practically draw herself across my lap, stare me in the eyes, and then sink a pristine knife into my back.

I say no more. I do not know if this is enough, but then again, I do not want enough. I have had enough. I have been through enough.

I curled into myself, walls going up, an invisible chain wrapping around my body, grating into my flesh.

As I stared at my shoes, I sunk deeper into the metaphoric quick sand I was standing in. But I did not care.

_**Wait I'm wrong, shoulda done better than this.. Please I'll be strong; I'm finding it hard to resist..**_

…

**I'm back babies! **

**I promise I will write more! Power to the Lord!**

**Review?**

…


	5. Sweet, Sweet Suicide

**I am listening to: You Found Me by The Fray**

**I do not, nor have I ever, owned PJO.**

**Chapter 5**

**Sweet, Sweet Suicide**

…

_**In the end, everyone ends up alone, losing her the only one who's ever known, who I am, who I'm not, and who I want to be.**_

Click, click, click.

The incessant clicking of the pen, was the first thing that caught my attention. It was erratic, loud, and just plain annoying, grating on my nerves, slightly making color rise to my extremely pale skin. Looking over, I expected to see Isidro, sitting in his seat, tapping his pen. Instead the sight that my gaze landed on was a slightly monotonic Ramon.

I watched as his hand held strongly onto the pen, his arm muscles rippling by the force a certain blow hit the table with. His distinct face remained blank, but the swinging of his leg told another story. Why was he so nervous?

As soon as the bell rang, he ran out of the room, pushing people out of his way, and running down the hall. Why was he in such a hurry to get away from here?

I didn't think about it again until later that night.

…

Silently, I slid my cell phone out of my pocket, under the table, and checked my missed calls and text messages. It had been ringing all night, but I hadn't been able to check it since my father had company over. Most of them were gone, leaving myself, my father, and a man with an extremely scarred face.

Looking down, I realized the sheer mass of the missed communications. I had had 124 text messages, 47 missed calls, and 33 voice messages.

Going to the first text message, I saw that it was from Ramon.

_Dear Paris,_

_Through these last couple of weeks, I feel as he have become great friends. You and I are so much a like; I can hardly believe it myself. I'm going to share with you something I've never told anyone else. I'm thinking about suicide. There is just a huge gap in my life; the place where my parents are supposed to be. I know, we haven't known each other for long, but I think you should know. When Isidro and I were 3, our mother died, and our father was never in our life. It just hurts too much. Today is the 10th reunion of her death. I think I'm going to join her. _

_Please don't be mad,_

_Ramon._

I felt all and any color drain from my face. Quickly standing up from my chair, knocking it over, I rushed to the door.

"Mija?" my father said, his face contorting it confusion.

"Get up!" I shouted at him, running my hands through my long hair. I felt the burning sensation of tears prickle at my eyes, a panic creeping into my head, "Please, daddy."

Looking back to my phone, I saw most of the other messages were from Isidro.

_Please pick up!_

_Isidro is in the hospital!_

_Help!_

_He's dying!_

_Please, he's on life support!_

I looked away, not bearing to read any more. The last one read; _York hospital._

"Daddy!" I screamed, tears freely running down my face, "He's dying! Ramon's dying!"

…

The drive to the hospital was grueling, and just plain unbearable, thoughts swarming my head, about the many things that could have possibly become of my friend.

Entering in the hospital, I knew I was a mess, though I couldn't bring myself to care, the darkness closing in on me, as I thought of Ramon.

"Paris!" I felt long arms wrap around me, a weight leaning on me, and warm tears hitting my head. My heart ached for Isidro, his world crashing around me.

I looked up at him, my hazel eyes, meeting his blood shot brown ones. His skin was pale, his forehead covered in sweat. He said nothing else, just leaning on me.

And I let him.

…

As I looked at Ramon, the sickening bruises around his neck stood out more than anything.

He looked so peaceful; like he was sleeping, but I wasn't naïve enough to believe that. His skinny body seemed to stick out ever more than usual, his hip bones jutting out, looking extremely sharp. I could make out every rib.

I felt a hand be put on my shoulder. I looked back and saw the young doctor that was working on him. "Do you want to have a few moments with him, until we have to pull the plug?" just the way he said it, made me hate him. He said it so calmly, like it was an everyday thing. Even through my anger, I walked into the room, lifting Ramon's hand, and setting it in mine.

"How could you be so selfish?" I spat out, running my thumb on the back of his hand. "How could you do this to me? To Isidro?" I felt my tears returning, the feeling of loss gnawing at me. "You were like my brother, Ramon! My brother!" tears were freely running down my face. "Why? Why would you do this?" I laid my forehead on the railing of his bed, "I can't believe it." I whispered. "Why you? Why not someone else? Damnit, why!"

"Paris?" I looked over and saw Trevor standing in the door way, his eyes also bloodshot. "Can I say something?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, feeling my voice crack. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No.." he said equally as quiet, "I think I need someone else here."

He sat down on the other side of Ramon, holding his other hand. I saw tears start to run down his face. I once again felt my heart constrict under all the pain it was going through.

"I loved you." Trevor said, staring at Ramon, "I loved you so much." The tears were coming faster. "I was going to tell you; I was finally going to admit it to someone else, someone who wasn't me. You were my strength, Ramon, my light in the dark. And now you're leaving me." I heard footsteps, and saw Isidro step into the room. He sat down next to me, and listened to Trevor talk. "You understood me, and didn't judge me. Why'd you have to leave me, baby?" 

Isidro was visibly shaking, holding back the flow of tears that wanted to make themselves known.

"I'm going to miss you, big brother." Isidro whispered. A doctor walked into the room, with a woman who looked like she was in her twenties, and another man.

"It's time." He said, not looking any of us in the eyes.

Trevor stood up, and after looking at Isidro, who nodded at him in approval, bent down and placed a chaste kiss on Ramon's lips.

I had to look away, as Ramon took his last breath, not bearing to see him die.

Now, it was only three of us. Trevor, Ramon, and I; three broken kids all alone.

I felt myself slipping into an exhausted sleep, slumping against Isidro's side, letting him lean on me.

I heard Isidro whisper one heart broken thing that really broke me, "He's gone."

_**One little boy on his way to school, nobody likes him cuz he's not cool. Thin little arms and an ugly smile, for a year, for a time, for a little while. How could you leave him alone? Now when he's gone…**_

…

**I'm not quite sure why I decided to kill Ramon. Maybe I'm mad and or angsty?**

**I am listening to: Better Die Young by Nomy**

**Review!**


	6. A Last Stand

**I am listening to: My Next Breath by Hawk Nelson**

**Chapter 6**

**A Last Stand**

…

_**Ashamed of who I've become; afraid if I look up I'll see your tears.**_

The lips on my neck were driving me crazy, the slight scrap of the teeth across my sensitive skin made my knees weak, as the warm hand pressed onto my waist assured me of the presence.

Suddenly it all stopped.

Isidro stepped away from me, his lips slightly bruised, and his hair tussled. His tie hung crooked and half way off, his shirt partly unbuttoned. I noticed how much older than 14 he seemed.

"I'm sorry." He said, taking another step back. His clothing seemed to stand on edge, covering the bones of his gaunt figure.

"I'm not a whore." I spat out at him, running my fingers through my hair. I quickly decided that it needed cut.

"Yeah.." he answered, not looking me in the eye. In a flash, he was out the door, leaving me to sink to the floor, angry tears running down my face.

…

I stood in front of my mirror, anger coursing through my veins. I held up a pair of scissors to my hair, dangerously close to my face, tears once again over flowing, and causing a stream to work its way down my face.

Self hatred boiled inside of me as I mercilessly cut away my long black hair, not sparing a lock in my anger. Slowly, I saw that I changed into a different person as the strands fell to the ground, forming a circle around me, a circle of my past.

I then picked up the hair bleach, spreading it throughout my hair with abandon. The uneven and slightly split pieces of hair seemed to fray across my scalp, the result of my self inflicted change.

I suppose I thought that if I could change my looks, and my heart, that maybe, just maybe, I could forget everything. Everything and anything.

Maybe I could forget all the nights I spent wishing I had a mother.

Maybe I could forget all the days I spent wishing I were dead.

Maybe I could forget all the hours I wasted wishing that I were normal, or that I had someone who cared for me. Maybe I could forget all the minutes I wished that it would all come to an end.

Maybe I could forget myself.

…

Later that night, I awoke to my nose throbbing. Reaching up, I felt a warm liquid drip onto my fingers. I figured that my nose ring must have ripped through, or that my new stud that I put in a few hours before had started bleeding again. I didn't know how wrong I had been.

I decided that instead of going to my personal bathroom, I would go to the larger one near the kitchen. Setting off on this adventure, I noticed the bizarre red lights peeking in through the living room curtains; I passed them off as kids walking by. When I walked through the kitchen itself, I heard voices outside. I decided that it was the neighbors. Walking into the bathroom, I saw the cause of the bleeding: somehow, during the night, I seemed to have gotten an earring stuck in my nose, and not the stud or ring. Pulling it out, I saw strange markings on it.

I had never seen it before, while wondering where it came from I heard a loud sound. Wood hitting wood. I quickly realized it was the sound of the front door being kicked in, done so a few times by myself.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

Not realizing what was happening, my hands were shoved behind my back, and handcuffed there.

"Do not touch my child!" I heard Jorge yell, his accent coming out louder than it usually was.

"Child or prostitute?" the person holding me back asked.

Feeling enraged, I quickly shouted, "I AM NOT A WHORE!"

My newly dyed bright orange hair flopped in my face, covering my eyes, as I struggled to get away from my captor. I felt something sharp hit my head, and felt my self quickly losing consciousness. Before I faded into the black, I heard one last thing;

"Jorge Sanchez, you are under arrest for drug dealing."

_**I've been housing all this doubt and insincerity, and I've been locked inside that house, all the while you hold the key, and I've been dying to get out, that might be the death of me…**_

…

**Okay guys, now the story really starts.**

**I am listening to: Be My Escape (Acoustic) by Relient K**

**I must have three review before I update.**


	7. Of Anger And Ignorance

** I am listening to: Love Riot by: Worth Dying For**

**Chapter 7**

**Of Anger And Ignorance**

…

_**Love riot, turn the city upside-down! Love riot for the name of Jesus. Love riot, turn the city upside-down! Love riot for the name of Jesus!**_

I felt terribly guilty.

I felt like I had made a grave mistake letting her to wander off in her anger, knowing the possible trouble she could get into. I felt slightly better that Trevor was with her, but not that much.

It all started when Paris had barged- _not knocking- _into my room that morning.

…

"Get up." I looked up at alluring figure of one Paris Sanchez. Shame riddled my body as I thought of the week before, where I had left her standing, alone. I was such a selfish bastard.

"What?" I had stupidly asked. Thinking back to it, she probably took it as defiance, which I should have understood by the pursing in her lips, and the slightly red tint to her face.

"I said; Get up. So do it, _now." _She spat back, her tongue lashing out at me, her words malicious and cold. I was so screwed.

"I don't really feel lik-," I was suddenly yanked to her face.

"Listen here, _boy," _she began, her hazel eyes glinting with hatred, "You're coming with me, _whether you like it or not!_ I am not going to let you hole up in your room all day, feeling sorry for yourself!" She pushed me back. "Get dressed, _now."_

"Paris, really, it's only been one week since the funeral." I had said. I later realized it was a bad move on my part.

"You ignorant pig!" she shouted at me, "Don't you dare—_DON'T YOU DARE—_use him as an excuse!" I was pretty sure she bared her teeth at me. "Get off of you sorry butt, and get back to life!"

I had stepped back, not seeing this part of her before. I took in the blood shot eyes, bags under her eyes, and distinct smell of alcohol before connecting the dots, "Have you been _drinking?"_

"Yes." She spat out, her eyes growing even harder than before, "I have."

"Paris-," I once again began.

"Don't you dare lecture me!" she shouted again, her newly turned bright orange hair flying into her face, "Don't you dare tell me how to live! Don't you dare say anything about how I'm acting, before you've cleaned up your mess! You've been walking around like a zombie these last few days! We get it, he's dead, you lost your brother, now will you please get over yourself! You are acting _so _selfish! I watched my brother die! _I held him in my lap! _You are acting like your world is ending. Guess wait! Its not! Ramon is dead! You just need to grow up and get over it!"

"Why do you always do this to _me?" _ I yelled back, losing my well kept temper.

"Do _what?" _she barked in reply. It made my blood boil even more.

"You _always _single me out! Who are you going to trip at lunch? _Me! _Who are you going to make fun of? _Me! _Who is going to get hit in the face in gym? _Me! _Whose homework is going to get stolen? _Mine!" _I took a deep breath before continuing. "And then you go and _seduce _me!—,"

Paris jumped towards me with amazing speed, "_I _seduced _you?"_ If she could breathe fire, I'm sure I would be a crisp at that moment, "I did not seduce you! You said you wanted to talk, and the next thing I know, we're kissing!"

"Its not my fault you're such a freaking whore!" I shouted. I had immediately covered my mouth with my hand, but the damage was done. Before I could blink, Paris was out the door, and out of my house.

Ten minutes later I got a text from Trevor, which said she was with him, and that I was dead.

I knew of the two that could kill me, he would be a little more merciful.

…

It was storming now. Rain was coming down in a steady sheet, hitting roves and filling up holes, forming puddles. Looking outside, I notice two figures, one lying down, and the other standing up, looking like they were shouting. Curious I wandered down the stairs of my home and out into the rain, wanting to know who would be mad enough to deal with such a storm.

"Hello?" I called, my voice being slightly smothered by the down pour, "Are you okay?"

The figure that was standing looked up at me, his deep blue eyes meeting mine.

I recognized him. How could I forget that face?

"Isidro?" he questioned, wiping his jet black hair away from his face.

I felt my face pale, knowing what was happening.

"Is it time?" I asked, worry shaking me.

He nodded grimly, his T-shirt sticking to his body.

I focused on the t-shirt, knowing what it said. It was a sign. It was time to go. I had to quickly find Paris.

Glancing back to him, I read the never changing words on his shirt; CAMP HALFBLOOD

_**Until the tears have left your eyes, until the fear can sleep at night, until the demons that you're scared of disappear inside…**_

…

**I am listening to: Oh My Dear by Tenth Avenue North**

**Review!**


	8. Ramon's Last Day

**I am listening to: Hearts Safe (A Better Way) by Tenth Avenue North**

**I do not, nor have I ever, owned PJO.**

**Chapter 8**

**Ramon's Last Day**

…

_**Please Lord, open up his eyes. Can you open up these eyes? Why, I'm asking you why!**_

Tick tock…

Tick tock…

Tick tock…

Ramon heard the clock tick away as the lips traveled down his neck. He felt the tug of his shirt, and decided it was the last straw.

"Babe, _no."_ he pushed his boyfriend away, not meeting his eyes.

"C'mon, _sweetie, _just have some fun." The older boy said, with a crooked grin.

"I don't want to, Jake." He answered, his brown eyes becoming insecure.

"If you loved me, you would do it." Jake replied his hand landing on Ramon's shoulder, and squeezing harshly.

"If you loved me," Ramon started, his breath becoming labored, "You'd wait."

Looking up, Ramon saw the lust darkened gaze of his boyfriend, "Jake?"

The elder boy chuckled darkly, before answering. "I guess I don't love you then, sweet cheeks."

…

Ramon was sore, oh so sore, and he felt sick. But, he mostly felt used. Used up like a little whore, like he was just a toy for everyone.

Leaning over, Ramon felt the contents of his stomach leave his body and land on the floor.

"Ramon, sweetheart, are you okay?" he heard his older sister, Ellie, call from the other side of the door.

"Yeah," he answered, wiping the tears off his face. He needed to take a shower, he decided, or a nice long bath.

"Are you sure?" he heard her ask.

"I'm fine, Ellie." He said, hating himself for his weakened state.

"Okay," she said, "Dinner'll be in half an hour."

"Kay, thanks." He replied, pushing himself off of his bed. He walked to his personal bathroom, and quickly undressed. Looking into the mirror, he frowned at what he saw.

"I'm so fat." He stated miserably, running his hands over his prominent ribs, "No wonder why Jake didn't love me."

He turned on the water, making sure it was extremely hot. Sinking into the tub, he gave a light gasp as the water burnt his skin, a pain riddled frown marring his features. He hissed in pain as the water seemed to cover him completely.

He felt tears running down his face, the days terrors coming back to his mind, scarring him.

He felt himself begin to sob, as the thoughts swirled around his head. Grabbing his phone, he quickly dialed a number.

"Please pick up." He muttered to himself.

Ring…ring…ring…ring…Hello, you have reached the voicemail of—

"No!" he screamed pulling himself out of the tub, and slipping on the tiled ground. He hit the ground, landing on his butt, pain shooting up his spine.

Still crying he pulled himself up, quickly pulling on his boxers. He ran back into his room, and threw himself onto his bed, his body screaming in protest. Turning onto his back, he saw a belt lying on his bed. _Jake's belt._

He looked at it, the simple black belt, a simple end.

Slowly, he sat up, and reached for the belt. The leather like material seemed to scrap his skin, as he ran his hand across it. He walked to his closet, and quickly tied it to the bar which held his clothing.

He snatched his shirts and coats off of their hangers, and threw them onto the ground, not watching where they landed. He took a stool, and stood on top of it, pulling the belt around his neck.

"Ramon?" he heard the voice of his brother call.

"Yeah?" he called back, licking his suddenly dry lips.

"Will you help me set the table?" Isidro asked.

Tears streaming down his he knew his voice was going to crack, "Yeah," he croaked, "I'll be down in a minute."

"Are you okay?" Isidro said, his voice concerned.

"I'm fine, big brother." Ramon said, tightening the belt around his throat, "I'm just making a decision."

"Okay." Isidro said, sounding doubtful, "I'll be back up in a few minutes."

At the sound of feet thundering down the stairs, Ramon kicked the stool out from under his feet.

As dots started floating in his vision, he heard his cell phone start to ring. It would be the last call he would ever get, though he never answered.

…

Five minutes later, Isidro was standing outside of his younger brother's bedroom door. "Ramon? Are you awake?" he asked, knowing his brother sounded tired earlier.

He tried to open the door, but it was locked. "Ramon! Open this god damned door!" he yelled.

"What's wrong?" he looked over to see his older sister's boyfriend, Stanley, standing behind him.

"Ramon locked his door." Isidro answered, jiggling the doorknob again.

"Move." Stanley said, as Isidro stepped a few steps away, Stanley kicked the door, making it fly open, the lock flying off and hitting the wall.

"Ramon?" Isidro called, stepping into the dark room.

He turned around, and saw the clothes all over the floor, following them until the doorway of the closet. Looking up, he saw his brother, hanging, lips blue and face pale.

"No!" he screamed. It was too late.

…

Ramon felt the kiss of angel touch his lips, and his heart soared.

He heard his brother whisper, "He's gone."

And, then the world was no more…

_**Today was gonna be the day, he'd already wrote the note, and parked that Chevrolet, at the end of that dead end road. Had his finger on the trigger; just about to end everything, he was taking one last long breath; when he heard his cell phone ring…**_

…

**I am listening to: The Call by Matt Kennon**

**Please review. **

**So, yeah, I decided to write Ramon's suicide. Ah! So depressing! Need to think happy thoughts! Anywho, Review please!**


	9. The Storm

**I am listening to: I Remember Me by Jennifer Hudson**

**Chapter 9**

**The Storm**

…

_**Memories they fading, but I'm the one who makes them, so I keep the love close enough to say…What if this life is all that we're given? We just can't stop living, scared of what we'll see…'Cause in this world, anything can hurt you, it'll push you, then forget you, stole my history. But I remember me!**_

(Paris POV)

I stared at the muddy water, no doubt dangerous to swim in. It was higher than usual, with rain drops still hitting the surface, causing ripples to destroy the simple peace of the creek.

Pushing my hair back, I pulled my t-shirt off, and then my tank top, throwing them into the mud on the shore.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Beside me, Trevor, was looking at the water with some sort of fearful doubt.

"Don't back out now." I said, pulling my pants down my legs, leaving me in only my bra and panties.

Trevor, grimaced, before looking over at me with something akin to disapproval. "Do you have to do that in front of me?"

Rolling my eyes, I quickly climbed onto the tire swing that hung over the creek, "This is our night, my little fag. This is our night to let go and forget the world! To just be two ignorant middle school—almost high school—kids."

"Really, Paris, I don't think this is the-,"

"Don't care." I interrupted, "Now strip. Unless you want to swim in your jeans and shirt?" I let the question hang in the wind, before hearing the light rustle of clothing. I smiled in victory.

…

Let me tell you, the water was much colder than I expected, leaving me shivering, and staying close to Trevor's side, trying to get him to loosen up.

"I'm in the water." Trevor spat, surprisingly bitter, "What do I do now?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I started humming and then began singing, "Help! I need somebody! Help! Not just anybody! Help! You know I need someone! Help!"

Shaking his head, Trevor grinned at me, "Are we going to start singing now?"

Grinning back, I quickly nodded my head, swimming a little further out into the creek. "Let the bodies hit the floor," I whispered, a smirk on my face, "Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the…" I took a deep breath before screaming out the last word, "FLOOR!"

"Shh!" Trevor said, though he couldn't hide his smile, "Do you want to wake my mom up? She already disapproves of my friendship with you. I don't really think she needs another reason."

Throwing my head back to laugh, I decided to quickly scare Trevor. Going under the water, I opened my eyes, hoping to see Trevor through the murky water. What I saw though, was a boy looking at me, his face right in front of me; his eyes were piercing mine.

I quickly pulled back, surprised, and broke the top of the water, screaming.

"What is it?" Trevor swam over to me, his larger body covering mine from the last bit of moonlight I saw.

"There was—there was..a guy! He was down there, and, and staring at me!" I spat out, shaken from the experience.

Pulling on his goggles—smart boy—Trevor went under the water, quickly coming up a few seconds later. "There's nothing down there, Paris."

"There was!" I said, adding venom in my voice, "I saw him! He had black hair and, and he was tan! And he was a guy for one! I swear he was down there!"

Looking at me doubtfully, Trevor pulled me to the shore, "C'mon, let's go inside. I think you might have swallowed a little bit too much of that creek water."

Stamping my foot as I pulled a towel around me, I glared at him, "I know what I saw!"

…

Sneaking out of a house is way easier than sneaking into one. Especially if said house has two stories, and the room you snuck out from was the second story.

Climbing into the window, after Trevor lifted me up, I held down my hand, and he dug his rubber soled sneakers into the stone of the side of his, successfully being able to climb up the wall.

The only thing we didn't account for was his mom standing in the doorway.

"Down to the kitchen," she spoke in a dangerously hushed voice. I reminded myself of Trevor's five year old brother down the hall. "_Now."_

The whole way down the stairs, I heard Trevor muttering, "We're dead…we're dead…we're dead."

"Sit." Mrs. Grim commanded, "_Both _of you."

"Yes ma'am." Trevor and I chorused in unison.

"Now, would you like to explain why when I went in to give you two hot chocolate so you would have a peaceful nights sleep, I found that you were both gone," I opened my mouth but Mrs. Grim kept going. "And _why _you two decide to crawl back in the window at _3 _in the _morning." _

Grimacing, I decided to answer, "We wanted to forget about our problems for one night ma'am."

I saw her eyes soften as she cupped my chin, "I told you to call me Mama K, Paris." She said gently, "I know these past couple of weeks have been hard on you both, but you have to remember that you guys up and disappearing like that, don't only affect the three of us."

Beside me, I heard Trevor sniffle, "I'm sorry mama."

"What was I supposed to say when your little brother asked where you two were? I didn't know, so I sure as hell couldn't say anything comforting to him." She sighed deeply.

"When I agreed to watch you guys, I didn't know you two were going to be such trouble makers." She spoke to herself, but in the silence her voice carried.

Trevor sniffled again, "I wish we could go back to 9 when we snuck out."

Like a vacuum, I felt the air whip around us and saw things swirl around, and everything seemed to back up. I felt myself, rather than saw, climbing backwards up the stairs, then into Trevor's room, then I lowered Trevor down, and was pulled down myself, and so on and so forth, until I was halfway dangling out the window, wanting to do something stupid, still stinging at the insult from Isidro.

"What the-?"

I looked over at Trevor, who seemed to be as confused as I was. In his doorway, though, stood his mom, staring at us.

"What just happened?" he muttered to himself.

Mama K looked around calmly, before helping me back in the window.

"Well," she said, "I suppose we should wait in the living room for your escorts."

_**The rumors, but nobody knew how much she blamed herself. For years and years, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath… She finally drank her pain away, a little at a time, but she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind…**_

…

**I am listening to: Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley featuring Allison Krauss**

**So, yeah, the powers finally arrived! Action starts now? Maybe?**

**Review, por favor.**


	10. Uneven Scars

**I am listening to: Alyssa Lies by Jason Michael Carroll**

**Chapter 10**

**Uneven Scars**

…

_**Alyssa lies to the teachers, as she tries to cover every bruise…**_

"Sanchez!" the dirty man looked up, his dark matted hair covered his face, "You have a visitor."

The man was led through many doors, and saw many men leering at him, staring him down. He sneered right back. Being led back into a darkly lit room, he was roughly pushed in a seat; reaching forward with his cuffed hands, he held the phone up to his ear.

A pristine blond woman leaned forward, her bright red nails, tapped against the cool metal of the table, "Hello, Jorge."

Jorge nearly dropped the phone in surprise, before scrunching his face up in disgust, "Hello, Aphrodite."

The woman chuckled, before tapping the glass that separated the two of them, "Oh how the mighty have fallen, dearest Jorge."

Jorge threw her an angry look, "Piss off."

"Now, now, my little Jorge, don't get mad at me." Aphrodite flipped her hair over shoulder, and gave him a dazzling smile.

"What do you want, Aphrodite?" Jorge sighed. Looking at him closer, Aphrodite saw that he had wrinkles marring his face, and streaks of grey through his black hair. His brown eyes seemed to not possess the sparkle they had held years ago, and his face seemed to have aged more than anything.

"I have come for my children. Where are they?" Aphrodite said, tapping her fingers impatiently.

Jorge seemed to curl in on himself, hiding his anger from the goddess, "You idiot woman…"

Seething, Aphrodite sneered at him, "How _dare_ you disrespect me like that! Tell me where they are, you stupid—,"

"They're dead, or as good as dead." Jorge interrupted loudly, his voice cracking with the reality of the statement.

Aphrodite was quiet for a moment, before saying, "What are you talking about?"

"Last year…" Jorge whispered, "December 10th. Ricardo…he…he…" Jorge put his head in his hands, and let out one sob before continuing, "I didn't know…I didn't know what he was feeling…he was so happy…and Paris…oh, Paris…she blames herself," he started crying again, "She blamed herself…I lost them both…"

Aphrodite stood up abruptly, a cold sort of fury running through her immortal veins, "I gave you the simple task of raising them!"

"They are _not _your tools!" Jorge shouted, standing up too. He dropped down in his seat, "They can't be anymore."

"You let my children die-,"

"Don't you _DARE_ blame me, Aphrodite!" He shouted, "_YOU _let your children die!" he panted loudly, his heart pounding, "They're not your children. They're mine."

"I gave birth-,"

"You didn't change their diapers! You didn't see them walk their first steps! You didn't see them on their way to kindergarten! You didn't see them kick their first soccer goal! You didn't watch them stumble and fall! _You didn't see Paris sob over her dead brother's body! YOU ARE NOTHING!" _He was breathing deeply, his dark eyes narrowed to slits, hatred practically seeping off his being.

In a huff, Aphrodite turned on her heel and left.

…

Jorge tied the bed sheet around his neck, pulling tightly. He gingerly tossed the note onto his bed.

Smirking, he jumped off his bed.

A few minutes later, a guard passed him, and saw him hanging.

"Guys! Help!" he yelled, but it was too late.

The warden picked up the note and read it out loud, "I leave everything in my possession to my only daughter, Paris."

Hastily, scribbled on the back was a note for the warden himself.

"Dammit, Sanchez!" the warden swore as he exited the room in anger. Floating to the floor was the note. The two words seemed to draw everyone's eyes to them. They scanned them and then looked at the dead drug lord that so many had feared.

'**I WIN'**

…

A few cities away, Paris was shaking hands with a boy she had just met, named Theseus. Above them, a street light blinked, and then shut off. Then, as if in a line, all of the houses lights turned off, leaving only the fireflies and moon lighting the town.

Suddenly, a large cloud covered the moon. In the next second, all the fireflies stopped blinking, and all was silence.

Paris blinked and then everything started up again. She thought nothing of it.

_**Don't you know there's nobody left in this world to hold me tight?**_

…

**I am listening to: Emotions by Destiny's Child**

**Ah! So much suicide! No more suicide!**

**Review.**


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